Books of Liberty
by ElnaKernor
Summary: JJ one-shots: 1) She'd always tell him her dreams, because he asked her to. Even if it wasn't what he wanted to hear. He kept hoping that one day, perhaps, the dreams would change. 2) In a reality where Kevin Thompson never became the Kilgrave we know, Doctor David Kurata and Detective Misty Knight are facing each other in an interrogation room.
1. Sweet dreams of liberty

_She'd always tell him her dreams, because he asked her to. Even if it wasn't what he wanted to hear._  
 _He kept hoping that one day, perhaps, the dreams would change._

* * *

 _implied (canon) dubious consent, dubious morality, villain, and I'm a terrible person while we're at it ( not because I like Kilgrave as a villain, just because... well. Read it, and tell me if you get why )_

* * *

 _I am extremely pleased with Tennant's Kilgrave, to say the truth. Obviously he's a villain, and possibly one of the worst out there, but I like him ( as a villain, and not as a misunderstood poor cupcake as some people tend to delude themselves ) because as a villain, I feel like he actually makes sense._

 _Let me explain ( quickly ):_  
 _1_ He's not delusional ( except about Jessica, and even there he's kind of aware of it )_  
 _2_ He doesn't pretend he's a victim ( except when he's trying to manipulate someone, but, you know, he doesn't really think it ) unless it's about his childhood, and I'm sorry, but he's right about that ( not that there was an easy way out, or that you can entirely blame his parents, but still... )_  
 _3_ He's not trying to take over the world for some reason_  
 _4_ He's horrible to absolutely everyone ( he does embody sexism with his actions towards Jessica and other women, but you know what? He acts exactly the same towards men )_  
 _5_ He's selfish, yes, but it's not like he could be anything else considering his power, and the age he got it_

 _Basically, Kilgrave just makes sense, even if he's a monster._  
 _Simply because with his story, he couldn't be anything else than a monster, and the only choice he really made about that was to protect himself._  
 _It doesn't excuse anything._  
 _But it makes sense, logically and emotionally._

* * *

 **Sweet dreams of liberty**

Jessica had a smile on her face as she spoke, and he couldn't help but to smile back, despite what she was telling him – what she told him everyday, each time he asked her about it. It wasn't ever the same exact story, but the end remained the same, more or less, and the message was clear.

Always free of him, sometimes with him dead.

It chafed, of course. It wasn't exactly pleasant. It wasn't something anyone wanted to hear.

But she was his obsession. She was the only one who was even slightly interesting, slightly like him, in a way. The only weakness he allowed himself to have.

It wasn't pleasant, but he could be patient. One day, perhaps, she'd tell him a story that ended well for both of them. One day, maybe, they'd move past all this.

He could be patient.

If only because he needed one person, just one, who wouldn't do things because he told them to.

If they found the right dream, then he'd be able to make it into a reality. That was what he was waiting for: the one dream that would change everything. The one that'd tell him she was changing her mind. That, yes, he could have a future with her.

He just had to be patient.

Jessica put down her glass of red wine, a small smile on her lips, and looked him in the eyes. He wasn't totally sure how much of that smile was genuine, how much came from his words, and how much came from her fear of him, but he hoped that, somehow, it would become less of the two former reasons over time.

"...and I broke your neck."

He wasn't going get angry with her, not for what she dreamt about. He had decided to have her tell him her dreams, every day, without exception. What her deepest hopes were made of.

He had asked for it, knowing fully that it wouldn't be pleasant – with his power, with who he was, there wasn't a version of the story in which he could start a true, normal relationship with anyone. Even if he did his best never to order someone, there would always be something that'd slip out. Even if just "get me a glass of water, would you". If he tried to be honest from the very beginning, to tell them about his power, they'd immediately bolt out. If he waited for some trust to settle between them, before telling the truth, no matter how much trust, they would never trust him not to have manipulated them. They would always question weither or not he had made them do what they had done, feel what they had felt. It didn't matter that his power didn't work past twelve hours on someone, it didn't matter that maybe he hadn't done anything.

Why would anyone trust him, when they knew he could make them think he was worthy of their trust if he wanted?

There wasn't the slighest chance that he could have a normal relationship with anyone.

He wasn't going to delude himself into thinking it could happen.

So all that was left for him was to try to work with what he had. To ease Jessica into a state of mind where she'd be happy with him, even if for that he had to start by being the worst, before slowly getting better with her. A state of mind where he wouldn't have to tell her to do anything, because she'd want to anyway. Without him even telling her to.

He wasn't asking for much, really. Just one person, one. Wasn't he even allowed to have one real relationship, in his whole life? Didn't he have a right to simply want to live?

No one can live entirely alone – because let's be real, even if he ordered someone around to be his friend, he'd still be alone. Having someone he wouldn't need to control was the best he could hope for, as it was. Even if for that he had to twist them into someone they weren't really.

For now, Jessica smiled because he told her to.

Him, he was looking for the dream that would change everything. That would tell him what to do.

And, possibly, that one dream would never come. Possibly she'd always, always hate him. Possibly he would never be allowed anything in his life, even if people always did exactly what he wanted. Possibly he would always be the child who could have anything he wanted, except real affection.

But he had to try.

Who could blame him for trying to live?

A lot of people, surely. He wasn't delusional, far from it. He knew that anyone who wasn't in his position – everyone else would just call him a monster. Worse, they'd say he still had a choice, even in his situation. That because he had this power, it didn't mean he could be excused of everything.

Well. Maybe they weren't completely wrong. He had a choice.

And he had chosen to protect himself, because no one would ever do it for him.

Later this evening, he would kiss her on the foreheaded, and whisper "Sweet dreams, Jessica."

And she would dream of a beautiful story, in which she'd eventually get free of him, by her own power. A story in which everything ended well for her.

And perhaps, one day, this dream wouldn't be about her freeing herself, but about him not needing to keep her chained with his words for the two of them to work together. Maybe one day Jessica'd dream that they were simply happy together. As if they were both normal people.

This night, as every preceding night, Jessica would dream sweetly.

Because Kilgrave had told her to.


	2. A tale of silence

_In a reality where Kevin Thompson never became the Kilgrave we know, Doctor David Kurata and Detective Misty Knight are facing each other in an interrogation room._

* * *

 _Given the nature of Kilgrave's power, I normally don't agree that he could have "turned it off" because it just doesn't work like that._

 _This is the only thing I think he could have done about it ( except suicide, but, you know... ), that he didn't do._

 _Also, I have yet to watch Luke Cage, but I watched The Defenders. Meaning, I'm not entirely familiar with Misty Knight, even if I don't not know who she is._

* * *

 _So, canon-divergence, and Post-Kilgrave Stress Disorder implied._

* * *

 **A tale of silence**

It hadn't ever been a secret meant to be revealed: two people knew about it, one of those two couldn't talk anymore and wouldn't want to anyway, and the other still had nightmares about it.

It wasn't a secret meant to be revealed.

Who would have believed it anyway? It wasn't a secret meant to be understood.

But as it happened, one day Doctor David Kurata ended up sitting on the other side of an interrogation table, face to face with Detective Misty Knight, about an entirely unrelated investigation, and the subject came up. Or rather, fell down, like a heavy rock would, possibly shattering the ground it fell onto.

Detective Misty Knight originally only wanted to ask the good surgeon – former surgeon, as he'd pointed out rather harshly – a few questions about his neighbor's murder. Doctor David Kurata certainly wasn't suspected of anything, but the police detective did need some clarifications about the man's first statement.

Except that Detective Misty Knight was a thorough – stubborn – individual, and she looked up the doctor before interrogating him again.

Something in his personal history did not fail to grab her attention.

And so here they were, sitting across from each other, staring at each other. The tension was obvious. The question was waiting for an answer.

Detective Knight asked again.

"Tell me, Doctor, why did a gifted surgeon such as yourself suddenly stopped practicing? Why haven't you performed one operation in the last three decades, dedicating yourself to teaching?"

It could have been any kind of reasons, really, from a sudden change of heart to a completely personal issue.

It could have been, and the doctor would probably have started with that lie, but it was obvious that the detective wouldn't buy it. If only because the tension in the room, after the first time she had asked the question, had gone off the charts.

"I've given a look at your history, Doctor Kurata, and I couldn't help but notice that in the five years following the day you stopped being an active surgeon, you went through quite a difficult time. No job for three years, several arrests for drunken behavior, self-endangering behaviors, and I'm sure I could find out more if I asked the right people."

The doctor forced himself to breath slowly, and the only reason Detective Knight did not see his joints blanching was because his hands were under the table.

She did, however, notice the tremor in the man's arms.

"Does it have anything to do with your investigation, Detective?"

Doctor Kurata was obviously doing his best not to answer, but Detective Knight knew the answer to that question – it was a question they often heard from all manners of suspects, witnesses and other people involved in an investigation.

"I am to be the judge of that, Doctor."

"Unless it has something to do with Ron Carlos' death, Detective, it's none of your business."

Doctor David Kurata's teeth were visibly clenched, and the detective leaned back in her chair.

Time to use the next part of the answer to the ever-usual-and-inefficient attempt at not answering.

"So you don't see an inconvenient to me finding your reluctance to answer suspicious, and thus deducing that, for example, you've done something you shouldn't have all those years ago, and someone blackmailed you to murder your neighbor?"

For a moment, Detective Knight almost believed the doctor would not answer, despite his nervousness, as the man's teeth clenched even more, but he eventually gave up.

"I'm not being blackmailed, Detective. But you're right to think something happened thirty years ago. Something someone might even use to blackmail me if they wanted, but for that to happen, they'd have to know, and more importantly, they'd have to believe. It'd have to make sense."

Detective Misty Knight's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Because it doesn't?"

In all her years working in the police, she had seen a few things that didn't exactly make sense, but that still, in a twisted sort of way, did make sense. You could understand why people did what they did, even if you didn't understand why they'd think it the best answer.

She still had to see something that didn't actually make sense at all – if it looked like it, then it meant they were missing something.

The doctor almost laughed – but Misty wouldn't have called it a laugh, not really, because there was nothing joyous about it.

"A teenager came to me, back then, for an operation. He came and asked me to do something, Detective Knight, that doesn't make sense. Something I wouldn't ever do, because operating without it making sense is needlessly endangering someone's life. Because it's also cruelty, in this case, and I can't imagine that anyone would want it to be done to them."

The doctor's hands slammed on the table, hard.

"And you know what I did, Detective? Do you have any idea?"

For the right sum of money, perhaps, the detective thought, some surgeons might do whatever it was that the teenager had asked for. What she needed to know, though, was what the operation was about. What the teenager wanted.

On whom he wanted it performed.

Kurata didn't let her ask the question.

"I did exactly what he wanted. I did as he asked. I wanted to please him. It was as if I didn't have the slightest choice on the matter, as if only his wish mattered. He was barely sixteen, and I did as I was told: I cut his vocal chords, because he had asked me to."

Misty didn't know what to answer to that.

What do you say to a man who was asked to do something unthinkable, with the victim's authorization, when the action didn't even make sense? Was there even anything to be blamed, here, when the victim's willing and the situation is completely out of control?

"What do you mean, you didn't have the choice? You could have refused."

She asked the question, but as she asked, the detective knew that there was something wrong with the situation, with the reality Doctor Kurata had been confronted with. Something – everything – didn't make sense here.

She didn't know what, she didn't know why, she didn't know how, but she had the unpleasant feeling that indeed, Kurata hadn't had a choice.

Seeing him here, thirty years later, still mulling over what had happened – knowing the effects it had had on his life directly after the facts – she would never accuse him of not caring, of having done it for the money.

"There wasn't any money involved, Detective, nor was I under duress, but at the time... It wasn't that I couldn't say no, it was that I couldn't even think about refusing. The boy asked, and I did it. It was as simple as that. He came to me and said 'would you be able to make me mute without any other consequences?', and from that moment, I was done for. The answer was 'yes', and so I did it, no question asked. It was as if... He wanted it, so I wanted it."

The doctor gulped, and continued on.

"And even now... Even now, while I'm horrified at what happened, I cannot imagine not having done what he asked me to do. Not wanting what he wanted. Even all these years later... I understand that I should not feel that way, I can explain why it shouldn't be what I'm feeling, but I... I don't want it to happen again. But if the 'me' from today was thrown back at that time, I'd say 'yes' again."

Because Doctor David Kurata hadn't had a choice back then.

Detective Knight shook her head, astounded.

"But why would he have wanted to become mute?"

Kurata's lips wrenched themselves into something that vaguely resembled a wry smile.

"His voice made me do exactly what he wanted, Detective. Can you really not imagine why?"

The realization was painful, and possible a bit frightening.

"He had a compulsion power, that kid. A power that necessitated him to be able to speak. A power that he could probably not turn off on his own. Except if he couldn't talk anymore."

The doctor gave her a long glance, then stood up, ready to leave. His fists were still clenched.

"So you see, Detective Knight, it trully had nothing to do with my neighbor's murder."


End file.
